Faintest of Sparks
by Yorick's Talking Skull
Summary: Why do we whisper what our hearts cry the loudest? Their secrets, their haunted memories, were whispers in their sleep…all heard by the wrong ears. Post 3x17-Countdown.


**Faintest of Sparks: Why do we whisper what our hearts cry the loudest? Their secrets, their haunted memories, were whispers in their sleep…all heard by the wrong ears. Post 3x17-Countdown.**

**Author's Note: We all needed something after that episode (either a chocolate binge, or to write a semi-conclusiveness to what happened). I won't be embarrassed to admit I did both.**

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**It was incredibly painful to experience, even more painful to relive …

Through a phantom of frozen breath, Castle could see her face become rigid and lifeless. Her cheek bones—which in his most secret dreams he kissed ever so tauntingly before claiming her lips—have become set in sharp lines.

He kicks and thrashes in bed, knowing his nightmare will make the events more vivid, more _real_.

Then there is the flash of his mother on a lazy afternoon when they went to an art museum in the city. He remembered trying to jump to see over the cast iron barrier, where the statues were blocked off. The writer could see his young hand reaching out to point to a statue of a woman, her eyes cold and frozen.

"_It's marble, silly!" _he could hear his mother say, pulling away her startled son from the barrier.

"_She looks dead,"_ his child self replied. _"She looks frozen."_

Beckett's face was frozen.

His nightmare tunnels back into the freezer. Even when they both came to the silent agreement to hold each other, his mind would not silence itself.

"_I wish that I had someone who would be there for me, and I could be there for him, and we could just dive into it together…"_

Her words were almost more painful as his veins freezing. It is a strange sensation when the blood runs cold, the veins freeze and expand, about to burst. The words she had spoke to him before getting trapped, were like freezing veins, killing from the inside out.

He was there for her. She was there for him. _What_ was holding them back?

He remembered her other words, the nightmare twisted them, made her face look more distant when she spoke them:

"_Castle, I want you to know how much I l—"_

The dream faded to one of his mother's old shows, and he was sitting backstage, watching his mother from a small sliver through the midnight black curtain, in the wings of the theatre. She had played a woman, who upon the death of her best friend, proclaimed she loved him, but it was too late. He died, leaving nothing but the ghost of a smile. Castle remembered watching one of the character's reactions to his mother in the play: _"You say you love, but you knew he wouldn't live."_

The line still burned in his mind, like the alcohol he had before going to bed in a futile attempt to warm his bones. Those bones; those were still like pulsating glaciers that rest within his flesh.

Flesh.

Her face was like touching ice, like everything he thought touching a corpse felt like. So cold. So empty. Her _eyes _were void like glass, like marble.

As they crouched together, he could even feel her breath turn frigid against his skin. That was when he knew they would not last. He knew she was going under. He could hear his apology, for being himself, drone on the in the dream, except in the dream she did not say it was okay, she did not reassure him that he was fine.

In the nightmare, as he touched her face, '_the lights went out_,' as she worded it. But now the scene froze. He threw the covers off in his sleep. In his dream, he tried to jolt her into consciousness. He had so much planned so many things he had to tell her.

He would have said, "I love you," and he would have meant all three words of it. He would have pulled her body closer, and in the future he would have wanted to do more than that to warm her bones. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her warm living breath gasp in the darkness those words that she had begun, but never finished. He needed to feel her, touch her, and prove that she was alive, _they_ were alive. Together. He wanted everything that was slipping away from him; her, his world.

But then, like in the freezer, the nightmare darkened into a pure canvass of black.

Everything faded into a realm of nothing.

Breathing; he felt himself jolt violently upwards. Cries; he heard himself call out desperately for her. Sight; he looked out and in the nightmare she was not there, only Josh was.

"_She's okay,"_ he said. _"Don't worry."_

"_I need to see her,"_ he pleaded.

Josh merely began to walk away. _"You are not the one to warm her bones."_

Then he watched him do just that.

The writer was taken to when he got into the elevator, after he had something nagging at his mind. He needed an affirmation of feeling, so to speak, hidden by an offer, a proposal for them to spend a lazy night together. Maybe to just talk, maybe watch a movie besides _Titanic_. Just anything to get themselves out of this impermeable hell, the flames of his nightmares…

But the nightmare went on, and he was walking away from her, Josh approaching her. But this time he saw both Josh and Kate coming to her car in the precinct parking lot. Before they entered his sight of vision, he was fishing out the key so he could drive away. When he looked up Josh was kissing her, her back pressed flat against the side of her car. His nightmare not only created this kiss, but her voice, a soft murmur, pleading him for more…

"_RICHARD!"_

Castle felt himself being jolted out of his nightmare, he mother sitting on the edge of his bed. From the city lights pouring through the crack in the window curtains, he could see her eyes, her sad smoldering eyes.

Martha looked at him, into him, and pulled her son, with hollow and haunted eyes, into her embrace.

"I am so sorry," she whispered.

She knew he loved Kate Beckett. He said he did…

…in his sleep.

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Kate Beckett could imagine so many ways to feel warmer. Wrapped up in Josh's arms in her bed, she was slow to admit, was definitely not of them.

Heat.

She thought of summer days, but that was fruitless. Being a bookworm, she was not one to always get out much during the overbearingly nasty city summers. Somehow, even thinking of her fireplace, or candles, did not even give herself a glimpse of mental comfort, a psychological heat to block out the real frozenness that wrapped her up in a cocoon of heavy clothing.

Pure heat.

Was the pure fury of desire she felt when he….when he kissed her. For a moment, she transported herself back to that moment in her mind, and he was there. He; as in Castle. There; as in an alleyway. And hell did she want to feel that heat again, that heat she was not supposed to feel when he kissed her, and definitely should not have fueled with that moan.

But, like that fire, it was unquenchable…it was raging free…

Freedom.

She felt it whenever he was around. Freedom to be herself. The light, the moodiness, the sparks of happiness…even the sheltered darkness. She was not hidden to him, but rather, exposed. Naked. Stripped. Bare.

In the figurative sense, but in her dreams, things were different…

For the first time tonight, he did more than kiss her in her dreams. She woke up feeling as if she almost had a fever, and it was not the covers wrapped around her, it definitely was not Josh's arms around her. It was that dream, his lips, that delicate and fiery illusion her mind crafted. In her dream Josh never came, and she listened to Castle.

He asked if she wanted to just talk about the case and they could have a small dinner out or at his place. She said his place. He smiled. Dinner was wonderful, so relaxing, and she was able to be herself. She was not crying like she did that night, telling Josh she was in her room digging out more covers from her closet.

In the dream they drank wine, but not too much for it to be a poison for future events. His lips, when they came hazily crashing down on hers as they lay on the couch, they tasted like wine…

His body, her body, it felt like they created a fire. It started as the faintest of sparks, starting from the friction of empty hearts lulling together in a rhythm, their lips clashing hungrily.

She did not feel alone.

She felt consumed.

She felt whole.

She felt _alive_.

In the dream, she told him to always be there, he promised he always will. She told him, in a whisper, she loved him…

But now, as she lay awake again, she felt a terrible wave of cold come over her. She did not wait to see what Castle had to say. She left with her boyfriend, who would now be there for her, but was rarely the one to get her through these things. Tonight, she was left to deal with reality on her own.

This frigid touch of reality felt like a sickness at first, draining her heatedly feverous dream from her memory. She felt like Josh's hand was that of a corpse, even through the layers of covers. She gently removed his hand from her, and she got up, cover cocoon and all, padding her bare feet against the wooden floors.

Even that felt like ice. Then, as she reached for the knob that felt like her mother's face when she touched it, not believing she was dead. It was painful. It was cold. It was haunting.

Castle made his family leave the city, so he knew this was serious. He thought that there was a significant chance that the inevitable would happen, but, as always, that lied beyond his mask of hope. He did not choose to escape with his family, to make sure he was there for the future…

He wanted to be with _her_.

The realization stung more than any frozen veins could ever begin to.

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Josh was wide awake, eyes painfully fixed on Kate Beckett's bedroom ceiling. The first time he heard her voice, her plea, he tried to ignore it.

She was merely talking in her sleep.

He thought it was to him at first, but then she addressed him. She asked Castle to kiss her, to save her, to be there for her.

But then, something consuming nagged at him. He was never there for her. Castle was. He wanted to be angry, but he could not be. He was fairly certain she was doing nothing with the author by the way she still looked back at him, where he sat perched on the edge of the ambulance to catch her glance.

"_This means we still have a chance,"_ he caught her saying, in her response to him staying in town.

It filled him with hope at that moment that only would come crashing down with his next thought.

He had agreed to go to Haiti the next day.

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"Castle, take five while I wrap this up. I'll finish up the paperwork. Take a nap."

He smiled then, a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. It had not for the whole day. Ever since he watched her hug Josh goodbye for Haiti, she noticed he was distant to her, like a silent battle was warring in his mind. He came with a cup of coffee that morning, not even knowing what he was about to witness would totally throw him off.

He could do nothing but stop in his tracks and awkwardly watch her tell him that they both "had passions" that drove their hearts elsewhere. He embraced her, saying that they both knew this to be true. Then, as he passed by the author on his way out, he whispered, "_Love her…"_

And just like that…Josh was completely out of the picture…

"Can I trust you to watch me sleep?" the author asked, his attention coming back to the present afternoon.

She rolled her eyes, "When you start talking, I'll be sure to wake you."

He did not reply, merely a grin came to his face and he buried his head into his arms, falling gently into her desk. For a moment, she found herself watching him sleep, but, she quickly tore her eyes away from him and went back to her paperwork.

Suddenly, she noticed the words go blurry on the page, her eyelids were drooping. She slowly let her head fall next to his on the desk. Her mind, finally silencing itself, let her lull into a deepened sleep.

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When she awoke, she felt an arm curling around her waist, a soft breath a patter in her ear. After the drowsiness of her sleep wore off for a moment, she realized she was sleeping in Castle's arms on the witness couch in the precinct. Her eyes darted frantically to his, which were closed. The lights in the room were off.

On the table in front of them was a note:

_Don't freak out KB, I moved us. Your desk is nifty…but not for sleeping…_

She felt a light smile come to her face and she decided it was a good thing he had done. Besides, you know, the possible fact that her colleagues might have seen Castle whisking her away in his arms. Finding the two of them passed out in the precinct would have caused for more observable speculation, though. In this room, very few people passed by, it was a safe haven of sorts. Completely darkened, nobody would see them as they slept.

She felt his hand move up her bare abdomen and his eyes twitched. When they opened, he immediately realized how he held her, how his hand had drifted under her shirt, and he removed it quickly.

"Gosh, we were on opposite ends of the couch when I fell asleep…sorry 'bout that…" he murmured.

But she laughed. "I don't have my gun with me at the moment, lucky man."

She removed her resting head from his chest.

"Sweet dreams?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He looked up to find her smirking through the darkness.

"Whoa, nice way to be discreet."

When she winked, it threw his assumptions off. Because, honestly, he did not think it was…or was it?

"Dream a little dream of me?"

That smirk again, damn was he confused…that, and about to implode.

"Well then," it was his turn to grin, "care to share?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, eyes darkening.

"I would," his reply was a murmur.

"Well," she moved closer to him on the couch, her heart beating violently in her chest. This was it. "You start out like this…"

Her kisses were at first so hesitant on his skin. It was a new sensation that was for sure. Her fire was fueled by his gasp at the simplest flicker of her lips on his skin. She was blazing fire on his collarbone; slow, taunting, and enticing. When she stopped, she merely let her finger run lazily on his face, watching as his eyes widened.

"That really drives me crazy," she murmurs, "But then you really drive me under…"

Her kisses start on the base of his neck, slow and passionate in an ascent to his mouth, but she stops.

"But I hate this the most," she breathed, her breaths filling his mouth. "You taunt me…"

She kissed the corner of his mouth softly, his face trying to nudge into hers to kiss her, but she keeps moving her face away, smiling when he groans in frustration.

"What do you do then?" he gasped, feeling the kisses descend down his neck again. "All that must get…" he felt her kiss the sensitive spot on his neck, "torturous…" then a fiercer kiss "…frustrating…"

"Oh, it does," she said, her hands holding his face, "So I silence you…like this…"

Her lips pressed against his, and she pressed his body deep into the sofa. His lips were startled to join hers, but when they did, they both created a rhythm of movement, a clashing of teeth, an ember growing into a fire of unquenchable passion. She felt his abdomen muscles stiffen under her hands. He moaned, then. With the movement of his tongue, he made sure to get one out of her, too.

But then, suddenly, she got up from the couch leaving him to stare at her with swollen lips and hair sticking up. Damn, she did do a good job on him. It was about damned time.

"Come on," she grinned, pulling his hand to get him off the couch. "We have a stop to make."

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When he opened his eyes in her car, when she told him to, a patchwork of what looked like embers were weaved into the sky.

She took him to see a sunset.

Her car was parked in an emptied lot.

When he turned to look at her face, it caught the last sparks of a dwindling twilight. Her eyes looked like they had a softened fire within them, but there was something more, a pensive silence that steadied their hearts.

The detective spoke first, ever so quietly.

"The day before a beloved person left this earth, I remember she picked me up from college and told me she had somewhere to take me."

Her gaze met the author's.

"My mother took me here, and we just watched the sunset. As the sun went down, she took my hand."

The author silently took her hand, watching with a bitter sadness as her eyes thanked him silently. It gave her the strength to continue.

"She told me, while looking into the sunset, _'Many people exist, Katie. Few live.'_" She choked out the rest, "_'Life…is short, so live every day holding onto the ones you love.'_"

"She was wise," Castle said softly, squeezing her hand.

"She would have loved you," the words flew from her lips before she could think about them, but she did not need to. They felt right on her tongue. She hoped that they always would.

As he embraced her, he could feel their chests heave relief, yet sadness, but it was endured together. Through the corner of his eye, still in her embrace, he caught the sun dance with its last embers before slipping into a darkened sky.

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**Author's Note: I felt it was obligation to slightly brighten up where they left off with Countdown. Your words are incredibly meaningful to me. Please tell me what you think. It means the world, really.—Cheers, and keep being classy, folks.**


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